


Fog Horn

by justbecauseyoubelievesomething



Series: Writer's Month 2020 Prompts [13]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Acid Fog, Calming someone during a panic attack, Canon Compliant, Dropship era, F/M, Panic, Panic Attacks, canonverse, hiding in a small space, s1 era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:02:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26064685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justbecauseyoubelievesomething/pseuds/justbecauseyoubelievesomething
Summary: A Bellarke drabble for Writer's Month 2020. Prompt 13: music.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: Writer's Month 2020 Prompts [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1863823
Kudos: 31
Collections: Writer's Month 2020





	Fog Horn

They’re deep in the forest, miles and miles from the Dropship. Too far.

Warning bells are already going off in Clarke’s head as Bellamy finishes tying off a new trap. She hoists her sack of game a little higher over her shoulder, trying not to let her nervousness show.

“We need to get going.”

“Just give me a couple more minutes,” Bellamy grunts without looking up at her.

Clarke shifts from one foot to the other. The trees rustle thickly over their heads, unseen animals passing above, watching them. Filtering between the spindly branches, the last gleams of golden sunlight paint stripes across Bellamy’s neck and shoulders.

Clarke chews at her lip. “Bellamy.”

“Done.” He stands and turns to her with a sort of half smile on his lips, probably about to tease her for her paranoia.

The deep music of a familiar horn cuts across the usual forest stillness.

The blood drains from Clarke’s face as Bellamy freezes and they both listen. As if it were a mistake.

Then the horn sounds a second time and they both spring into action. Running through the branches back the way they came. Clarke’s bag bounces hard against her shoulder blades and she ignores the inevitable bruise forming, focusing on putting one foot in front of another.

They shove through the undergrowth, mindless of the crushed trail of plants they’re leaving behind them. Any Grounder that might be tracking them is something they can deal with after they survive the fog.

A third blast of the fog horn sends a shudder deep through Clarke’s bones. The tones are rich and musical, deep and smooth as they resound against the tall tree trunks. In another world, she might even think it sounds pleasant. Soothing.

Instead, the horn summons renewed dread. Icy fear starts to crawl up her spine as she hustles just behind Bellamy, almost close enough to trip over his heels. They’re running as fast as the forest allows and yet it’s not going to be fast enough. They’re going to die out here.

Suddenly Bellamy swerves to his left, grabbing her wrist to yank her with him.

“This way!”

She ignores the wrenching pain that shoots up her arm and keeps step with him. He’s leading them closer to the roots of the mountain instead of farther away. She can feel the tingling of the acid in the air, taste it in the back of her throat. If she looks back, she’ll see the rolling wave of grey-green bearing down on them. An emotionless monster ready to swallow them whole.

“Come on, Clarke!”

She’s flagging, weighed down with her fears. Bellamy’s voice cuts across the blurred mass that is currently her mind.

“There’s a cave up here. Come on, Clarke. We’re almost there.”

He keeps up a steady stream of encouragement, his voice calm and deeper than the warning horn. Its own kind of soothing music. How he’s talking so calmly while they’re sprinting full bore, Clarke doesn’t know.

She lets Bellamy’s voice guide her up the last stretch of slope, their feet pushing off of jutting roots like stairs. She sees the cave now, a thin crack in the rock face ahead. Bellamy doesn’t stop talking to her.

“Just ahead, we’re almost there. That’s good. We’re almost there. We’re going to make it. We’re going to make it…”

The idiot actually stops to let her squeeze into the tiny cave before he does, regardless of the fog rolling a step behind them.

Bellamy lets out a tiny pained grunt as the acid hits his skin and then he’s crowding into the cave with Clarke. They push back against the shallow inner wall, as far away from the small entrance as possible. A smattering of fog leeches into their sanctum, but not enough to reach them and finally they both take deep breaths of relief.

As they slide to sit against the wall, side by side, Clarke reaches out and touches Bellamy’s forearm softly. He jerks a little instinctively then eyes her carefully.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

He doesn’t smile, but his gaze is warm as he flips his hand up and gives her an answering brush of his fingers. “No problem.”

They sit there, watching the fog swirl inches from their outstretched toes and Clarke tries to keep her mind from wandering too far into the macabre. Wondering about exactly how close they were to…

“Stay with me, Princess.” Bellamy’s voice cuts through her brain again, a light shining through the dark. Warmth melting away the ice from her muscles. She takes a deep breath and shakes away the morbid shroud threatening to cover her.

“Keep talking?” she asks. It sounds pathetic even to her, but Bellamy only shifts slightly, wiggling his back into a more comfortable position.

“I think we’re maybe ten miles from camp? We shouldn’t have come out this far. But that’s on me. I guess we’ll never go back and check some of those traps, huh? I wonder if the other hunting party had good luck the other direction...”

As he rambles, Clarke closes her eyes and leans her head back, letting the familiar lullaby of his voice soothe her to sleep.


End file.
